


One the other never leaving

by LiveOakWithMoss



Series: Radioactive [5]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fucked up Finwian dramamonsters, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 13:31:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2390072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We two boys together clinging.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Elbows stretching—fingers clutching

**Author's Note:**

> 0\. Here's where I post snippets of fic that take place in the Radioactive 'verse but aren't quite cohesive yet.

Celegorm swore and hurled a hairbrush across the room. “Curse this useless thing.”

“Are you talking about the hairbrush or about yourself?” asked Curufin, fastening a gold bracelet around his wrist. “You realize we are already late and you still look like you’ve been dragged backwards through a bramble.” 

“Since when do you care about making Felagund wait? And it wasn’t a bramble, it was a thicket,” said Celegorm, grumpily. “Huan caught a trail. I followed, in as much as I could. And I would be perfectly capable of fixing my hair if it wasn’t for – ” He gestured in frustration at his left hand, the first two fingers bound together. 

“Those are your own fault,” said Curufin, doing up the last button on his high collar. “You can’t work around two broken fingers? Just pretend you’re Nelyo.” 

“I don’t think Nelyo spends much time on his hair, these days,” muttered Celegorm, retrieving the hairbrush and slumping down in a chair. “Or else he gets Makalaurë to – But, of course.” He looked up, and smiled brightly at Curufin. “That is what  _you_  are here for, dear brother.” 

Curufin rolled his eyes. “It comes to this, does it?” 

“Aye, it does. If you don’t want us to be even later than we already are…” 

With a sigh of impatience, Curufin swept over to stand behind his brother. Plucking the hairbrush from Celegorm’s hand, he began to run it through Celegorm’s long pale hair, working out the tangles. “Pass me the box from the stand,” he said presently, fingers busy. “I trust you want to draw all eyes, as usual. Hand me the emerald clasps – no, the other ones. Oh, give it here, I’ll find them.” He yanked the box from Celegorm’s hand and rummaged through it. “Silver, I think, would be better – though gold would catch the light – ” He broke off, suddenly, and Celegorm looked up. Curufin had paused, gazing down at a pair of simple, gold-painted beaded clasps in his hand. And Celegorm remembered. 

In the early days, after the sea crossing, when Celebrimbor still wept in the night for his mother, and was silent and red-eyed by day, Curufin grew impatient with his son’s listlessness and reticence. Sharp reprimands availed nothing, and so instead, a ritual began. Each morning Curufin would sit with Celebrimbor as the new sun rose over the new lands, and he’d brush out the boy’s tangled and neglected hair and braid it. As his quick hands ran dexterously through Celebrimbor’s dark hair, so like his own, he would speak of great works and discoveries to come; tell of stories passed to him from Fëanor, and from Mahtan, and even from Aulë himself, of the clever hands and skilled crafters who came before, and what greatness they had wrought. And soon Celebrimbor’s thin, closed off face became lively and interested again, and he would lean back against his father’s legs and ask questions, and Curufin would fasten gold into his hair and tell him he was born for great things. 

Curufin was staring at the old, tarnished clasps now, and Celegorm felt a surge of foreboding. Celebrimbor hardly looked his father in the face anymore, and if ever he was forced to actually speak to him, his voice would be clipped and brusque, like one undertaking an unpleasant chore. Curufin would grow cold and silent at the mention of his son, and say that if the fool wished to reject his birthright for a role as Finrod’s faithful dog, then at least he could go forward knowing he no longer had any son to disappoint him. 

As Celegorm watched Curufin’s face, drawn and angular in the low light of their room, he saw pain and anger flickering behind those impenetrable grey eyes. And so he caught Curufin’s wrist, sweeping the jewelry away, and pressed a kiss to his brother’s palm instead. 

For a moment Curufin was still, and his eyes closed briefly at the touch of Celegorm’s lips. A low sigh escaped him, and he slumped forward against Celegorm’s back. Celegorm nuzzled against his palm, kissing his wrist as well, and Curufin’s head bowed forward, his shining dark hair falling forward over Celegorm’s shoulder. They stayed like that a moment; Curufin bent forward over his brother, Celegorm’s lips pressed to his hand. Then Curufin straightened and shook himself.

“Sit up,” he ordered brusquely, and resumed braiding Celegorm’s hair. 


	2. Misers, menials, priests alarming

Curufin came back to their rooms to find Celegorm lounging half-dressed in the chair by the fire. 

“Couldn’t be bothered to fully clothe yourself?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he hung his cloak by the door. 

“Mmm. Unnecessary.” Celegorm watched him with lazy eyes, one arm slung over the back of the chair, the fingers of his other hand hooked lightly in the waist of his unlaced breeches. One leg hung over the arm of the chair, and he radiated pure insolence. 

“Your laziness has truly reached new heights.” Curufin approached the fire, holding out his hands appreciatively to its warmth. “Not that this is surprising.” He let out a sigh of pleasure as the fire warmed him. “It is beyond me why our beloved king had to establish his realm in such horrifically clammy depths. If he would but let me experiment with piping in water from the thermal springs, I could have this place reasonably heated in a year or less.” 

“Findaráto does not trust you inside his walls,” said Celegorm, and smirked. “In more sense than one.” 

Curufin rolled his eyes. “A bit of a ham-fisted innuendo, don’t you think?” 

Celegorm opened his mouth, grinning, and Curufin held up a hand. “Don’t. I know you are contemplating some horrific play on ‘ham-fisted’, and as much as I love you, brother, there are some things I will not forgive.” 

Celegorm subsided, eyes sparkling, but gestured to Curufin. “Come here, then.” 

Curufin eyed him. “I am wearing my best robes.” 

“To fuck with your best robes.” Celegorm made an impatient motion. “Come here.” 

Curufin yielded with poor grace, crossing over to his brother. “What do you – ” 

Celegorm reached out a long arm and caught Curufin around the waist, pulling him down into his lap. “Why do you always make me ask?” he murmured, and Curufin closed his eyes, refusing to let himself shiver pleasurably as Celegorm’s lips touched his throat. 

“I hardly consider that  _making you ask._ You issue an order and then manhandle me while complaining about my reticence. You are the most impatient – ” He broke off with a curse as Celegorm tugged sharply at the front of his robes, pulling them half open and sending several buttons flying. “ _Damn_  you, Tyelko.” 

“I do apologize,” said Celegorm, not sounding sorry at all. “Oh, dear, there go the rest of them…” He gave another tug and Curufin’s robes opened all the way in a second shower of buttons. 

Curufin bared his teeth. “You owe me for that.” 

“Oh, I know.” Celegorm’s tongue flicked against Curufin’s ear, making him shudder. “I shall repay you in  _full_ , dear brother.” His hand slid down Curufin’s chest, nails catching not quite by accident on the thin material of Curufin’s undershirt. “Forget your clothes,” he murmured. “Think of other things…” 

“Like you, I suppose?” Curufin’s voice was quite steady, but his head sank back on Celegorm’s shoulder as Celegorm’s fingers dipped below the waistband of his breeches. 

“Like me.” Celegorm smiled into Curufin’s hair, and his fingers skimmed Curufin’s hardening cock. “My goodness, brother, you seem to be taking my suggestions seriously already. How proud I am…” 

“Oh, shut up,” said Curufin, swallowing hard and lifting his hips slightly, seeking Celegorm’s hand. “Stop teasing and – ” 

“Me, a tease?” Celegorm was clearly attempting to sound hurt, and he would have succeeded if he hadn’t sounded so smug instead. “Spoken by one who regularly tortures me with such sly provocations? How the worm turns! So to speak, of course.” 

Curufin’s eyes snapped open and he let out a snarl of annoyance and frustration as Celegorm withdrew his hand with a laugh. “Stop acting the fool, Tyelko, and  - ” 

“And what?” asked Celegorm, innocently, but Curufin could feel the press of his erection hard and hot against his back. He ground down vengefully against his brother’s lap and was rewarded with a slight crack in Celegorm’s teasing tone. “What is it you want from me, brother?” 

“I want you to touch me,” snapped Curufin, and turned in Celegorm’s arms, his torn robes slipping from his shoulders. He wedged a thigh between Celegorm’s legs and braced himself above his brother, glaring down at him. “You know I will not beg.” 

“On the contrary,” said Celegorm, and his eyes shone as he gazed up at his brother. “I know exactly how sweet you sound when you beg…” 

Curufin made a furious movement, but Celegorm caught his chin with one hand, and when Curufin made to speak, Celegorm kissed him. It was a long, slow, and sweet kiss, and so disarmed Curufin entirely. Celegorm was rarely so gentle. 

Curufin had intended to bite back into the kiss, to draw blood, to push against his brother and make Celegorm push back, but instead he found himself relaxing into his brother’s arms, opening his mouth for Celegorm to deepen the kiss, winding his fingers into his brother’s long hair where it fell loose over the arm of the chair. 

“That’s right,” murmured Celegorm, as Curufin sighed and pressed closer to his chest. “It doesn’t always have to be a fight, brother. Eru, how beautiful you look in the firelight. How beautiful you are in the moment after you surrender your anger…” 

“I never surrender my anger,” Curufin whispered, but he knew he was undermined by how he clung to Celegorm’s shoulders and by the noise he made as Celegorm’s hands settled against his backside. 

“You never surrender,” Celegorm agreed, and kissed him again, “except to  _me_ , sweet brother.”


	3. Unspoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It grows more and more difficult for Celegorm to leave Curufin's bed.

If the servants of Nargothrond noticed that only one of the beds belonging to the Fëanorion lords was being slept in, they were too discreet to say anything. 

It had started as something much different, but somehow, they had ended up here. And now, instead of them parting ways or rolling over and ignoring each other after their ferocious couplings, Celegorm found himself wanting to stay in Curufin’s bed. At first he dismissed it as his own laziness – why bother with getting dressed and walking down the chilly hallway to his own cold bed when he could just roll over and sleep where he was? But eventually, he could no longer convince even himself that it was practicality alone that kept him at Curufin’s side through the night. 

He wanted to sleep with his brother’s body pressed against his; perfectly aligned from chest to toe. (Not, of course, that Curufin would ever tolerate such contact long. He would squirm out of his embrace and grumble about the heat of Celegorm’s body; the weight of his arms.) 

Celegorm wanted to wake with his face pressed to Curufin’s neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his brother’s hair – mingled these days, with the smell of sex, and himself. When he woke, hard and aroused from a night of fevered dreams, he wanted to be able to sink his teeth into Curvo’s shoulder to wake him, wrap a hand around his hip and pull him back against his groin. Curufin would wake, angry and sleepy and pliable as he always was in the morning, and Celegorm would smother his complaints with long, open-mouthed kisses until Curufin was moaning helplessly under him, and then he’d slide between his brother’s legs and push into him. Curufin would be open and slick from the previous night, and would fall apart under Celegorm’s touch, gasping and pleading in a way he never would outside their bed – never would, indeed, outside those lazy mornings. 

And after, Celegorm would kiss him slowly for the pleasure of the afterglow, reveling in how Curufin would let out soft noises and pull his fingers through Celegorm’s hair. He rejoiced in those mornings, when Curufin was too sleepy and content to roll away from Celegorm’s touch, too at ease to kick his legs away and growl about needing space; those mornings when Curufin would let Celegorm be gentle with him, be tender, and whisper all the soft things he was usually too afraid to say. 

There were words, of course, that he never said, though the knowledge of them was always present. When Curufin kissed him back; when his brother laced his fingers behind his head and pulled him close, Celegorm could relax, could momentarily be assured that even though those words were unsaid, he was still wanted. 

Needed. 

More.

_Am I enough for you, now?_

There were questions, too, that Celegorm never asked. But he always wondered.

_Do you still think of him?_

_When you close your eyes as I push into you, are you picturing his face?_  

He’d hold the unspoken questions behind his lips as he kissed the sweat from Curufin’s throat, as he nuzzled into Curufin’s damp hair, spread over the pillow, as he brushed his thumbs over Curufin’s cheekbones. And he counted down the minutes until Curufin would push him away, impatient at last, and rise from the bed to wash himself and dress. 

“Where are you going?” he’d ask, and Curufin wouldn’t look at him as he’d answer shortly, 

“Nowhere. Go back to sleep.” 

And Celegorm would lie there, alone, and roll into the warm spot left by Curufin’s body; close his eyes and breathe in the scent of his brother, and wish he was brave enough to say the words.


	4. Holding me now in hand

His brother is cold fire and tightly threaded steel. His brother is finely wrought armor and brutal silk. His brother is sharp tongue and twisted truth and blazing mercury. 

His brother is unbreakable. His brother is untouchable. 

Except – 

Except when he braces himself over his brother, pressing him hard into the bed until his legs lock fast around his waist and his brother’s hand comes up to grip him hard for support while his other hand clenches on the sheets, clinging to a control that will snap in just – 

                                                                       – a moment. 

And then Celegorm’s beautiful, unbreakable, untouchable brother, who deals in lies and manipulations and power, is undone beneath him. And his sharp tongue whispers only pleas and his hair spills unbound over the pillows, and his mercury eyes close and Celegorm knows he has stilled that whirring, ever-plotting mind – 

                                                                    – for a while, at least. 

And though Curufin closes his eyes as his head arches back, Celegorm never takes his gaze from his brother, wanting to see every movement, know every moment, possess every moan bit back behind those clever lips, treasure every scar dug into his shoulders by those deadly fingers. 

 _It is perfect._  

Except – 

“Open your eyes,” he whispers.

_You who see everything – see me._

  

 

His brother is hot, airless nights. His brother is bare but for Celegorm’s own tunic over his lean shoulders. His brother is shadowed rooms where the firelight dances on their skin and their groans are muffled by the heavy tapestries on the walls. His brother is a flash of invitation in silver eyes; his brother is a hand pressed to his mouth to stifle their cries. 

He does not say the words that Celegorm whispers into the darkness. 

Instead – 

 

His brother is a brushing touch in passing; a certain look across the council table. His brother, who hates touch while he sleeps, lets him drift off with an arm around his waist, pulling them close together. His brother is efficient hands weaving gems into Celegorm’s fair hair, finishing with a light hand laid on his shoulder, an affectionate brush of fingers across his cheek. His brother parts from him, and when Celegorm catches his wrist, turns and kisses him swiftly, sweetly. 

His brother is a secret. 

His brother will not tell. 

But – 

 

 _Look at me._

His brother opens his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Inspired by Silje.


	5. No law less than ourselves owning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curufin attempts to contract some kinslaying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. More humor and lightness in this than many of the other installments. Call it indulgent, not that that's much of a change.  
> 1\. Oh, and this is nsfw. Natch.

“Tyelko,” said Curufin, striding into their room and slamming the door behind him. “I need you to kill someone for me.”

Celegorm, who was wearing nothing but a towel and was shaking out his long, wet hair, didn’t blink. “Who now?” 

Curufin eyed him. “Coming from the baths, are you?” 

“No, there was a brief indoor rain shower.” Celegorm twisted his hair into a knot and tied it in place with a scrap of cloth. “Yes, clever one, I am coming from the baths. But come, sit beside your big brother and tell him who he needs to kill.” He lounged down against the narrow sofa, knees apart and the towel dangerously low on his hips, and patted the cushion beside him. “Is this like when the children were cruel to you growing up and you needed me to come save you?” 

“That never happened,” snapped Curufin, but he crossed to the sofa and sat down aggrievedly beside his brother. Celegorm put an arm around him, and Curufin shook off a droplet of water that ran down his sleeve, but didn’t pull away. “There was maybe once, when I was _very_ young, that I got upset, but you didn’t save me, you saved _them_ , because you said that letting you beat them up would get us in less trouble than if we went through with my plan.” 

“Yes, of poisoning them.”

“I still maintain it would have sent a good message.” 

“Oh, doubtless. And gotten you dispossessed ahead of schedule.”

“Sparing _much_ time and expense.” Curufin allowed himself a half smile as Celegorm chuckled and pulled him closer to his side. 

“So. Do tell. Who must I kill, and why can’t you do it yourself? You are as good with a sword as I.”

“I would be too obvious a suspect.” Curufin sighed and turned sideways, settling his back against Celegorm and stretching his legs out along the cushions. “Else I would have done it this very afternoon. I didn’t have any poison or blade on me at the time – damn Felagund and his ‘no weaponry in the library’ rule – but there was a sharp letter opener, and of course I could have simply smothered or throttled him…”

“Who?” asked Celegorm again. “Not Felagund himself?”

Curufin waved an impatient hand. “Oh, him. No. For one, he’d enjoy the throttling far too much, and at any rate he’s just where I want him.” Celegorm smirked, and Curufin went on. “No, the bastard I have in mind is the head librarian.” He ground his teeth. “The sanctimonious, small-minded, power-hungry…” 

“Did he tell you to stop going into the warded sections?” 

“Yes!” Curufin threw up his arms, and Celegorm jerked his head back quickly to avoid being struck in the face. “I understand keeping certain sections away from those who don’t fully understand or appreciate them, but this is _me_. I understand and appreciate these texts more than his feeble little mind could ever possibly – like he has ever lifted anything heavier than a pen in his life – I could _write_ these texts on metallurgy and he tells me not without a _signed_ – ” Curufin spluttered into incoherence as Celegorm pulled him across his lap and cut him off with a firm press of lips against Curufin’s, a tactic he’d grown fond of whenever Curufin was working himself into a fury. Curufin made a muffled noise, then wound his fingers into Celegorm’s still wet hair.

“So the paper pedant needs to die,” said Celegorm after an interlude, pulling back from a much quieter and rather flushed Curufin. “Hmmm. I shall see what I can do, but there are several issues.” 

“Like what?” Curufin undid the knot of Celegorm’s hair and pulled the long strands over his shoulder to play with them. 

“For one, my sword.” Celegorm sighed woefully. “I am afraid I don’t have it.” 

“What?”

“It is off being cleaned and sharpened. By my favorite nephew, as it turns out. You remember him.” 

“You have more than one sword.”

“Ahhh, but this is my good one.” Celegorm bent down and carefully nibbled on Curufin’s ear. “I absolutely refuse to do contracted murder with anything less than my largest sword.” 

“It is not the size of the sword that matters, surely,” said Curufin, closing his eyes and tipping his head so that Celegorm’s lips traveled from his ear to his throat. “But how it is wielded. Nevertheless, I am sure I could provide you with one of…suitable girth.” 

“I am sure you could, I’ve seen your armory. But then there is the matter of payment.” 

“Payment?” Curufin opened his eyes and frowned. “We are family. Surely there is no need for remuneration between – ” 

“Oho, just try that one on Moryo.” Celegorm shook his head sadly. “No, I’m afraid I need compensation.” 

“We already share accounts.”

“True.” Celegorm thought a moment, as Curufin’s fingers wandered over his bare chest. “What is the conversion rate from Sindarin gold to oral – ” 

Curufin quickly kissed him to shut him up, and he could taste Celegorm’s laughter. 

“No, sweetheart, the one I was thinking of is quite a bit lower,” said Celegorm, when Curufin let him come up for air, and Curufin bit vengefully at his lower lip. “Ow! And if you try anything like that, all deals are off.”

“Fine,” said Curufin, pushing himself upright and settling astride Celegorm’s lap, looping his arms around his brother’s neck. “Fine, if I arrange for a suitably large sword, and proper _compensation_.” He ground his hips down against Celegorm’s lap, and Celegorm’s breath hitched, his arms tightening around Curufin’s waist. “Will you _please_ commit this murder for me?” 

“Anything for you, you know that,” said Celegorm, and then stood up, grasping Curufin easily by the hips. Curufin automatically wound his legs around Celegorm’s waist, and Celegorm’s towel dropped, unheeded, to the floor.

As Celegorm began to carry him across the room, Curufin murmured into his ear. “This does not look like you girding yourself for slaughter.” 

“Slaughter comes later,” said Celegorm dropping to his knees before the fire and rolling Curufin to the ground. Curufin braced for hard stone, but instead felt warm, thick furs. He closed his eyes, the fire hot all along his left side, his back cushioned against the softness of bearskin. 

“This is new,” he whispered, his fingers plucking at the fur as Celegorm began to carefully undo the clasps on his robes. 

“I killed it last month and finished preparing the skin this afternoon,” said Celegorm, and laid a kiss to Curufin’s exposed belly.

“For me?”

“For you,” Celegorm agreed. “See, already I kill for you.” His hands wandered down Curufin’s thighs to squeeze delightedly at his buttocks. “ _Eru_ , I love this part of you.” 

Curufin rolled his eyes even as he arched back against the bearskin. “Who on Arda would have such a fondness for the least toned, least handsome part of me?”

“Me,” growled Celegorm, and he parted Curufin legs, lifting him slightly so he could nuzzle at the soft curves of Curufin’s backside. “Least handsome…how dare you? It is _perfect.”_ His growl turned into a groan of appreciation as he nipped as Curufin’s buttocks, and Curufin couldn’t stop a cry from escaping him as he felt the heat of Celegorm’s tongue. 

“Ai, _Tyelkormo_.”

“Mmm,” said Celegorm indistinctly, and as he busied himself, Curufin clutched frantically at the bearskin and forgot completely about his feud with the librarian, or indeed, anything else.

 

-

  

A log popped in the fire, sending up sparks, and Curufin stirred, turning his face briefly against the warm of the furs beneath him as he stretched. Behind him, Celegorm made a complaining noise and held him tighter. His now limp cock was still between Curufin’s thighs, and Curufin squirmed slightly against a cramp in one of his legs. 

“No escaping,” said Celegorm sleepily into his hair, laying a kiss to the nape of his neck.

“Ah,” said Curufin, tipping his head back until it rested on Celegorm’s shoulder, “but you owe me.” 

“Owe you?”

“I started my payment plan early,” said Curufin, and wiggled out of Celegorm’s arms, causing his brother to let out a complaining grumble. “Now you owe me a delicate and deadly assassination.” 

Celegorm rolled over and yawned, stretching his arms over his head. Curufin admired his golden skin against the dark furs, but resisted the urge to straddle him again. “We’d agreed on a different form of currency, I thought.” 

Curufin examined his fingernails. “I worked out the conversion of oral gratification against coin, yes, but I also worked out the conversion of your _fixation_ with my posterior against oral gratification, and my calculations come to the conclusion that what I just gave you is at least twice the equivalent of your going rate.”

“You judge my services so cheaply?”

“You judge _my_ services so cheaply?”

Celegorm made a face at him, and Curufin smirked. “I’ll be waiting.” 

But when instead of rising and getting dressed, Celegorm hauled him back down into the furs, Curufin made no complaint.

However he calculated it, he came off the richer.


	6. The devil on your back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. I've never written a multi-chapter story where I have to insert a chapter before the last one I've written...hopefully this works.  
> 1\. I've mentioned that I ship Finrod/Curufin the hardest when I'm writing Celegorm/Curufin, haven't I?

Celegorm let out a deep groan, and Curufin wrapped an impatient hand over his mouth. “Control yourself.”

Celegorm bit at Curufin’s fingers and mumbled, “If you’re expecting self-control from me, brother, than you truly don’t know me at all.”

Curufin rolled his eyes, an impressively sanguine gesture considering he had his brother flung down on the edge of the bed, Celegorm’s powerful thighs around his waist. One of Curufin’s hands was braced by his brother’s head, the other still covering Celegorm’s mouth. “I suppose I was overestimating your ability to restrain yourself. That was my mistake.”

“How am I supposed to restrain myself when you’re balls-deep inside me and slowly driving me mad?” Celegorm’s voice was a low, provocative rumble, and he rolled his hips as he spoke.

Curufin sank his teeth into his lower lip to prevent a hiss of pleasure from escaping. Celegorm’s dark eyes sparkled up at him, and he deliberately sucked one of Curufin’s fingers into his mouth. Curufin’s teeth drew blood, and his hips jerked forward inadvertently as Celegorm’s tongue slid over the pad of his finger.  “Beast,” he whispered, as he always did, his hands coming down to grip Celegorm’s hips tightly.

“That’s right,” said Celegorm, letting Curufin’s finger slip from his mouth and giving his brother a mad, bright grin. “Now let me taste you…” He stretched up and licked at Curufin’s lips until they parted and then kissed him fiercely. His fingers wrapped around Curufin’s long braid and pulled him down so they were chest to chest. Celegorm’s hungry mouth sucked the blood from Curufin’s lips, and Curufin closed his eyes against the beautiful sting. He slid his hands down to grip Celegorm’s buttocks, pulling them snugly together, and Celegorm groaned again, though this time the sound was muffled by Curufin’s tongue.

“When will you learn to shut up?” whispered Curufin, starting to move in the long, deep thrusts he knew his brother liked.

“You don’t want me to shut up,” said Celegorm, indistinctly, and dropped his head back against the fine-wrought quilts covering the bed. “You get so bloody smug when you can make me moan and beg, you love it, don’t pretend you – Oh, Eru, yes, fuck me like that.”

Curufin hid what was, after all, an undeniably smug smirk in his brother’s wild hair as he bent low and settled into a brutal rhythm right on the edge of roughness that made Celegorm curse and pull his hair and dig his nails into Curufin’s skin.

“ ‘Ware,” Curufin said sharply, pulling back as Celegorm dragged rough fingers down his back, teasing at breaking the skin, “Do not mark me. If I have to explain another bloodstained tunic or bite-mark on my throat…”

“Oh, shut up,” said Celegorm breathlessly, “You know everyone will assume any _lovemarks_ on your skin are from our dear cousin… And as for bloodstains, it’s only suitable for a kinslayer to wear blood and glory, is it not?”

“I do not dress myself in entrails and bone like you do,” said Curufin shortly, intentionally ignoring Celegorm’s first remark, tinged with spite, about _lovemarks_ and _dear cousins_. “I would rather not appear as a bloodied savage, if possible. Sheath your claws, beast.”

Celegorm flashed sharp teeth in what might have been a mocking smile or a snarl, and pulled Curufin into another violent kiss. “Does your golden pet bloody you, my savage? Am only I denied such pleasures?”

Curufin didn’t answer, but his next thrust made Celegorm let out an oath and drop back on the bed, panting.

“Turn over,” Curufin growled, his voice as rough as his brother’s. He pulled back, slipping from between Celegorm’s buttocks, and Celegorm cursed him again. He laid a slap against Celegorm’s thigh, impatient and demanding, and Celegorm rolled over, bracing his feet against the floor and laying his chest flat along the bed. Curufin regarded him like this, that powerful body, marked with wicked scars and ancient tattoos, laid out before him.

“You have two seconds,” came Celegorm’s low voice. “Before I get up and throw you down on the bed and take you myself because you are clearly incapable of doing the task at hand – _Manwë.”_ His fingers clenched in the quilt, tearing at the delicate embroidery as Curufin drove back into him in a single merciless thrust. “Fuck, yes, just like that – _harder_.”

“I told you to be quiet, didn’t I?”

“Or what?”

“Or the servants will wonder at the noises coming from a bedchamber supposed to be unoccupied, seeing as its occupant is on a five day journey right now.”

Curufin could sense Celegorm’s smile, even if he couldn’t see it. “Did you not lock the door, brother?”

Curufin didn’t let his eyes flicker to the lock that he himself had installed on the door in question. “It must have slipped my mind.”

“Of course.” Celegorm’s voice was mocking, if breathless. “It works out for the best, then, doesn’t it, considering how hard the idea of _getting caught_ gets you…”

Curufin closed his eyes, blood roaring in his ears as his pulse accelerated. The tight heat of Celegorm’s body was suddenly magnified a thousand fold by the pleasure roaring through him, the skin-tightening electricity as he imagined the door opening…of someone freezing in the doorway, eyes wide, gaze falling on…on…

“He’d like to watch, wouldn’t he?” Celegorm’s rough whisper cut through Curufin’s thoughts. “He’d stand there, watching as you drove yourself deep into me. He’d get hard, wouldn’t he, and maybe he’d come up behind you, run those long fingers down your back, over your ribs…maybe he’d slot himself up behind you so he could feel every thrust you make into me, as you fuck me until I spill myself…all over the royal counterpane…” Celegorm’s voice broke off as Curufin shuddered and reached around to take his brother’s cock – it had to be painfully hard now – dripping and slick in his fist. “…wouldn’t be the first time you’d ruined his pretty sheets, would it?”

Curufin lowered his head, the long twists of his impending climax shooting through him, and bit at the knob of Celegorm’s spine at the base of his neck, exposed by the fair hair falling forward over Celegorm’s shoulders. _Pale_ _hair, golden in this light, spilling over familiar, embroidered blankets._ Celegorm gave a long, shuddering groan, throbbing in Curufin’s hand, and Curufin pressed his open mouth to his brother’s neck and jerked him off ruthlessly, until Celegorm came with a shout, spilling himself – as promised – across the king’s bed.

Curufin rode out the tremors of Celegorm’s orgasm to the end, then pulled out and finished himself off, coming with a swallowed moan against Celegorm’s back.

Celegorm rolled over, making the mess of Finrod’s bed even worse, a laconic grin on his lips as he caught Curufin around the waist and pulled him down. Curufin thought to protest – _keep me out of the wet spot, at least –_ but Celegorm was only letting Curufin’s body touch his own, not allowing him to come in contact with the bed at all. Curufin let himself be cradled against his brother’s chest, his mind briefly blank, impatience just out of reach.

“Valar, I love when you fuck me,” murmured Celegorm into his hair. “Valar how I love it, you insufferable, domineering, appalling devil…”

“Hush.” Curufin raised his head and pressed his lips to Celegorm’s, stemming the flow of words, and he felt Celegorm turn gentle and tender under his touch – it would be only brief, he knew, but just now – he needed silence.

Two more days until the king returned – Curufin would keep himself occupied in the meantime.

 

 


	7. Marked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I want to leave my teeth marks on you, dress you up in blood and call you mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. This comes after Finrod’s death and Celegorm and Curufin’s expulsion from Nargothrond.  
> 1\. Warnings for, oh my god, everything. Explicit sexual content, sibling incest (hah, but you're five chapters in now, you know this), fucked up codependent jealous possessive unhealthy relationship, light knife play, blood. Ummm and maybe very, very lightly implied past Finrod/Curufin and Celegorm/Oromë.

Celegorm sat back on his heels, still astride Curufin’s hips, and looked down at his brother appraisingly. A smile twisted his lips. 

“Dressed in death. How fitting.” He reached down to run rough fingers along Curufin’s collarbone. “Death and nothing else – what could be more beautiful?” 

Curufin moved his head restlessly against the blankets of Celegorm’s bedroll. The pale bone beads braided into his hair – the tiny death’s heads that Celegorm carved endlessly, automatically, each night by the fire – clacked together, like teeth. “You are so gruesome.” 

Celegorm let out a bark of laughter. “Aye. But I am just helping you fit the whispers that spread about you, my fair harbinger.” His fingers wrapped around Curufin’s throat and squeezed gently until Curufin gasped, his hips moving involuntarily in response to the sudden flood of arousal. “My doomsman.” 

“Drama,” Curufin choked out. “You are hopeless.”  _And you are punishing me._

 _Still._  

But Celegorm just leaned down and kissed him, gently, without the bite of teeth that Curufin craved, and as usual, it was tenderness that threw him, unnerved him, and made him helpless beneath his brother’s touch. 

When Celegorm pulled back once more, Curufin stared up at him, hands moving possessively over Celegorm’s skin, eyes flickering over the familiar curve of muscle, the well-worn tracks of old scars. And… 

Curufin caught at Celegorm’s wrist and turned it over, revealing the old tattoo there; the ancient sigil. He couldn’t help but grind his teeth at it. 

“Still you wear his brand.”

Celegorm let Curufin’s fingers trace the mark. “Aye, I shall wear it into death – and beyond death. The mark of a Vala, so I am told, stays with you, even unto rebirth.” 

Curufin curled his lip. The mad, bright glimmer, deep in his chest, that had flickered to life after Finrod’s death, mounted higher. “I would prefer you to wear  _my_  brand.” 

Celegorm laughed, his teeth flashing sharp and white. “Brother, I  _wear_  your brand every minute my heart beats. If you think your mark shall not follow me, through deaths untold, than you are far more stupid than I, for all they call you crafty.” 

“Oh?” Curufin looked up at his brother, his fingers digging hard into Celegorm’s bare waist.

“Oh.” Celegorm grinned, heedless of the trenches Curufin was slowly carving in his flesh. “You have marked me, brother – inside and out.” And he leaned down to kiss Curufin, long and open-mouthed, as Curufin groaned and thrust deep into him. 

“Prove it,” whispered Curufin, as Celegorm let out a rumble of satisfaction, his cock lying hot and heavy against Curufin’s stomach. 

“Is this not proof enough?” 

“I know how you still pander to him,” said Curufin, his lips moving against Celegorm’s skin. “You fool, you ingratiating, credulous fool…do you not remember that we have forsaken their kind? And yet I see you, I  _see_  you, the  _offerings_  you leave…Do you believe he will listen? Do you believe he hears your prayers? Dispossessed, we are, brother,  _traitor_ …” He could hear the spite in his own voice, tinged, he knew, by his own guilt, but he was suddenly wild with fear, wild with possession. 

Celegorm growled, deep and dangerous, laying his arm across Curufin’s throat even as he clenched tight around Curufin’s cock. “There is nothing I begrudge you,” he whispered, harshly into Curufin’s ear, “nothing I do not give you – but that,  _brother_ , is my business and mine alone.” 

Curufin fought him, until Celegorm removed his arm, and then sank his teeth into Celegorm’s shoulder, savage and hateful.  _We are weak, we are impotent, we are alone. We have lost everything –_ I _have lost everything. Except you_. 

_I cannot lose you._

“You have me.” 

Curufin drew back, annoyed at having forgotten how open their minds were to each other, and glared up at Celegorm, his eyes bright and glittering. “ _Prove it._ ”

“You want proof?” Celegorm leaned to the side of the bedroll, his movements dragging another groan from Curufin, and seized the knife that lay ever by his side, a blade as ancient as the brand on his forearm, and as sharp and deadly as grief. “What is it you have always said, Curvo? What is it father always said?” He threw his head back, feral and beautiful, his hair pale as ice, his eyes cast in shadow. “In blood, truth.” 

He held the blade close to his throat, the tip pressing lightly against the line of his jaw, just below his ear. Slowly, precisely, he drew a scarlet line against his sun-browned skin. Curufin let out a hiss, but he knew the steadiness of his brother’s hand, knew how intimately Celegorm understood the boundaries of the body and the pathways of blood. 

Celegorm lowered the blade, and licked the blood from its length. “I bleed for you,” he said, his voice rough with violence and love in equal measure. “Taste it.” 

Curufin stretched up and fastened his mouth to Celegorm’s throat, lightheaded at the hot metal tang of blood, and he put out an arm to steady himself as he heard Celegorm groan at the sensation.  _Do not hurt yourself for me, my brother my love, but_ yes _, bleed for me, ache for me, want –_

He was still inside Celegorm, and when his brother moved, Curufin felt the twist of pleasure that signaled his impending climax. He sat up, arms wrapping tight around Celegorm as his brother whispered profane endearments into his hair –  _dressed with death_ _, my savage_  – and they clung together in the darkness. 

Marked. 


End file.
